


sweat - sweet - wet - red - heat

by bareunloveliness



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Food Kink, Gay Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Shower Sex, TBT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bareunloveliness/pseuds/bareunloveliness
Summary: Based off an early draft of Rent where it was mentioned there was a shower inside the kitchen of Mark and Roger's apartment.





	1. the past

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've written smut like twice in my life. So enjoy this, I guess! Chapter one is mature, chapter two will be explicit, don't know yet about chapter three. I'm also trying a bit of a new narration style, with a lot of "--"s and italics. Let me know what you think in the comments after. Also, blame Ayre for this. She's the one who told me about the early draft.

Mark wasn't sure who deserved his curses, the mutters of obscenities that escaped his lips, usually first thing in the morning or last thing before he went to bed, because he wasn't sure who was in charge of planning the layout of the worst studio apartment.

When he first moved out of his parent's penthouse in Scarsdale, he was desparate for not only somewhere cheap to live, but the authentic Bohemian experience (yes, he demanded there be 'piss on his stoop every night' or whatever it was Benny liked to say -- Yes, Benny must have been the asshole in charge of the apartment's open floor plan, this was to say that he had motive). His high school girlfriend, who was actually still  _ his  _ \-- for this week anyway -- invited him to move in with  _ her _ without a second thought, and her three male roommates. It was a shock that they could all fit, but it was excellent for Mark's fading inspiration. Their everyday conversations could inspire a thousand scripts alone, from the three hour discussion of which Beatle would have been the hottest fuck (Mark was still vouching for Ringo, but Roger protested that until they actually learned how to be 'real rock artists', none of them were sexually attractive in the slightest, particularly John -- to which Benny had to remind him that John was  _ dead _ \-- "Not unlike my boner for him, Benjamin.") to the time when Maureen decided to do the dishes by placing every coffee mug in a five mile radius into the kitchen-shower and just running it for an hour. It did nothing outside of raising the water bill.

Your beloved narrator would like to emphasize a point in the previous few lines, that there was such an awful invention as a 'kitchen-shower'. Although Benny claims that his girlfriend's dad only  _ bought  _ the building and didn't  _ build _ it, Mark still chose to blame him for the equal parts unnecessary and necessary  _ shower _ in the  _ kitchen. _ It was important for them, the five of them living in one space, to have a working shower (and it was next to hell to have only one), but nobody could come up with a truly sustainable reason as to why it had to be wedged between the fridge and the sink.

"The water pipes. Shower water and sink water is the same. Besides, it saves us from needing a bathroom sink," Maureen argued, ever the environmentalist.

"We still have a bathroom," Collins reminded her, lazily lifting a leg over the back of the sofa. "And there's a sink in there. Just not a  _ shower _ ."

"Someone was really lazy," Mark offered up. "And couldn't be bothered to make coffee unless they could do so while washing their hair."

"You're all wrong," Roger said, rising to his feet and letting his streaked blonde hair tussle and fall over his shoulders. He strutted --  _ strutted _ \-- around the apartment as if it were a palace and he was its king, and not an overpriced piece of trash -- the  _ apartment _ , that is, not  _ Roger _ \-- although the point is up for debate. "Whoever constructed this enigma of a device," he gestured towards the kitchen-shower, not unlike a magician's assistant- -- but without the glitzy apparel, unfortunately -- "has a food kink."

Groans escaped from the throats of his friends -- who much regretted the  _ title _ of 'friend in reference to Roger -- with the obvious exception of Maureen, who was squatting on top of the couch in a position that could not possibly be comfortable, except for her lower back which leaned against the back of the couch for support as she slowly rose to sit on  _ top  _ of the back of the couch. "No, let the man talk!" she encouraged him with a hearty chuckle. 

"Thanks, Brunette Stevie Nicks," he said with a toothy smile that could -- and  _ did _ \-- break a million hearts. "As I was saying, the non-gender-specific sexually ambiguous tennant in question could only be driven to love by food, and for that reason, had one of three choices: place a bed in the kitchen, place a kitchen in the bedroom, or, the most obviously rational of the three, place a shower in the kitchen."

Collins raised an unimpressive eyebrow. "But why wouldn't-"

"Save questions for the end, Tom," Roger said, pointing at him with a spatula as if he was the one who ever spent time at a college. Class was in session to solve the great debate, but Mark -- who wrote a screenplay on the topic in his head as they all spoke -- did  _ not _ sign up for Kinksters Who Used to Live Here 101. "As I was saying, a bed would be nearly impossible to fit in the space, while a shower takes up only a square foot or so, and blends in neatly with the stainless steel aesthetic. A bed, which would be required to be  _ made _ every day, would add an element of coziness to a room meant for the preparation of sustenance. This decision would be wildly ridiculous, which brings me to option two: a kitchen in the bedroom. Clearly, whoever made this shithole that we call out beloved  _ home _ couldn't afford to a new stick for his ass, so we have to assume that he couldn't purchase an entire second set of appliances just for his penis."

"What happened to non-gender-specific?" Maureen asked.

Roger hit the fridge with his spatula, rapping twice to call attention. "What happened to saving questions for the end, Barbara Gittings?  _ As I was saying _ \-- it would be preposterous to place all of that in the bedroom, and even if there was a single kitchen set in the apartment and it happened to live in the bedroom, that would be a pain in the ass to explain to guests, why they were making tacos in the bedroom instead of a kitchen. So the  _ only _ logical solution is to put a single shower in the kitchen, pass it off as some thrifty option in the creation of the apartment, and fucking -- beat your meat every day as you cook some meat on the stove. I don't know, that one sounded better in my head."

"So you're saying this isn't a shower," Maureen said, fulling sitting on the top of the back of the couch, leaning forward as to not fall off. "But a masturbation chamber?"

"Is that not what we've been using it for this entire time?" Mark joked, earning a faux-slap on the head from Maureen behind him, who had her legs pressed against the sides of his arms. For a communal shower, the suggestion was appalling, but that didn't mean it wasn't something that Mark didn't  _ think _ about. Rather, he wasn't thinking about jerking off, but  _ joining _ someone in the shower on occasion. To conserve water, of course.

He couldn't deny that he was transfixed by the way the water barrelled off of every muscle in Roger's body; they had a thin shower curtain set up around the glass chamber, but it still provided a -- thankfully, at least, for Mark -- detailed silhouette for anyone around. Mark chose to shower when nobody else was home, usually at 2 in the morning on nights (which was more often than not) that Benny spent at Muffy's. The shadow left just enough to the imagination for Mark to return to his room, content with the mental image, and begin stroking himself as he imagined what it would be like to step inside, crammed with Roger as he pushed him against the glass door, face pressed out to the apartment, as his hands-

That was more than enough; Mark would soon learn that his fantasies didn't need much more, not with his hand going as fast as it did. He was sent away to another world when he thought about Roger, and it was the better world to live in. There was an assortment of scripts, ripped harshly off his typewriter, and thrown in a pile under his bed about two roommates who switch between partners until they realize that they are meant for each other, but Mark swore to never do romance. Besides; romance for  _ people like him and Roger _ ended in a hospital and both of them knew it.

So he stuck with what he knew; his hand, a tissue box, and visions of the kitchen-shower.


	2. the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark enjoys Roger in the kitchen-shower, until he gets caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> legally ayre isn't allowed to read this holy SHIT  
> see i love writing the build up but the MOMENT that genitallia or fluids are involved i get super squeamish about writing so you're not allowed to judge. no actual sex yet.

Although he was at his most attractive with a light musk of sweat from nights on stage, Roger was excellent at keeping up with basic hygiene. He showered every day, sometimes twice if the occasion called for it. His lifestyle called for late nights, so he'd take a shower at about four in the morning when he would get back home, or at ten when he'd wake up if he wasn't alone. Benny had a very strict rule against shower sex, however, but he was gone so often with Muffy that unfortunately, the rule was often broken.

It was only girls that Roger ever broke this rule with; even though he was known to bring guys home. It was the strangest thing the first time he did, and Mark recalls the moment perfectly, from the realization that he  _ wasn't _ crushing on a straight guy to the head-spinning heartache that followed when it didn't matter if the guy was gay or straight because regardless, Mark wasn't  _ good enough _ . He was cute, sure, but Roger didn't want cute. He wanted sexy.

And that was a perfect enough word to describe the man who wandered into the kitchen at around nine in the morning, wearing one of Roger's old ACDC t-shirts. "Wow, Collins doesn't usually bring anyone home." Mark commented aloud as he offered to make eggs for the unknown man who could only be employed as a model-- anything else would have been a crime.

"Who's Collins?" he replied, taking a bite into an apple from a bowl of fruit they left out for guests. Benny said it was elegant. Roger said it was disgusting.

Mark raised an eyebrow, cracking eggs over the pan. "The- but- black guy you slept with last night?" he squeaked out. His first thought was that Maureen was cheating on him. Fuck, he knew it. This guy came over for  _ Maureen _ last night, and Mark wasn't supposed to know. God, he knew this was going to happen.

"Um, I slept with a white guy last night."

Mark broke an egg onto the floor. "Pardon me?"

"Roger Davis? Your roommate? What arrangement do you guys have?"

Mark did not respond, as he was feverishly running to the door to Roger's bedroom, knocking on it like his life depended on it. "Hey, Roger, who's your friend?"

Roger, who did not appreciate being woken up, lazily opened the door. Stubble dotted his chin as he yawned. "What?"

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, really tall guy sitting in the kitchen?" he said, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Oh. Didn't get his name."

Mark hesitated, clearing his throat. They never discussion Roger's attraction to guys, because as far as anyone else in the apartment was aware, there wasn't any.  _ Wait, if I come out to him, he might come out to me, _ Mark thought. "You know I'm bisexual, right?"

"Do you want a medal or something?"

"God fucking dammit." Mark stormed away, and did not finish making the eggs. Poor stranger had to clean them up. And then just leave, I guess- Mark didn't ask again. Instead, he promptly dashed into his own room, and closed the door, leaning back on his bed.  _ Don't think about him, don't think about them, don't think about Roger kissing slowly, all over, until his lips -- what beautiful lips -- made their way down to his c- _

Mark stopped himself, hand just over his pants zipper. He was half-hard, and even though human sexuality was normal and natural and now that he knew Roger was at least a little gay-- no, he still couldn't bring himself to not feel guilty about it.

But he couldn't bring himself to stop.

He heard the water running in the kitchen.  _ Perfect timing, asshole _ .

Mark stood in his bedroom doorway, peering into the living room that merged with the kitchen, which contained the coveted shower, which contained the coveted Roger Davis. Through the curtain, every muscle, every bone was visible in black-- the way his hair slicked back against the water and the droplets that fell onto his ass, sliding off flawlessly. 

Mark twitched in his jeans, knowing that he was falling into every single cliche in the book, especially when he captured that image in his mind -- didn't need a camera to promise not to forget every flexed muscle covered in sudsy soap-- slammed his door shut and began to work, pulling out his cock and spitting on his hand, beginning to stroke himself as fast as he could, imagining that his hand was Roger's, calloused and wet, hot from the shower, inside the shower, a confined space with his teeth in his neck, pressed against the glass, pushed to whine and whimper and shudder and beg--

There was nothing left to beg for.

Paradise  _ came _ to him quickly.

As a knock echoed on his door, he bolted up and tried to zip up, not even having time to clean himself, thinking about the laundry he'd have to do, as he mumbled, "Just a minute."

Roger burst in without waiting just a minute, with a towel separating the two. "Dude, I just had the best idea ev- am I interrupting something?" Mark had turned away, his back covering all it needed to, but very clear there was something to be hiding.

"Yes, Roger," he spat, red rushing to his cheeks. "There's a reason why I said 'just a minute.'"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Roger!"

"What?"

"You can't ask me that. Why would you ask me that?" It was strange to ask your roommate-- your  _ best friend  _ what he was  _ thinking about  _ as he  _ brought himself to orgasm _ . "What kind of a person just asks someone that?"

He cocked his neck around to see Roger's playful smirk. "Someone who's wondering if you're thinking about him. And by the color in your cheeks, I'm thinking you might be."

"Or I'm just embarrassed and want you to leave."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you just want me."

_ "Why are you doing this to me?" _

Roger bit his lower lip, glancing down at the floor, the mess Mark tried to hide, and straight into his terrified eyes. "Because I want to give you what you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta be honest, I really don't expect comments on fics like this- I don't leave comments on smut fics usually just because I feel weird about it, but if you're the kind of person who can, I would love some feedback! Even though I mostly read smut, I hardly ever write it.  
> Fun fact: Me and Ayre (the one that I write this for because she gave me the idea even though I don't expect her to read them) run @incorrectmarkerquotes on Tumblr! I highly recommend following because that's where a lot of our Marker headcannons and bits come from, including some parts of this where Mark and Roger talk about bisexuality.


	3. the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets what he wants, and Roger has fun with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college is WACK but with nanowrimo, there's going to be a lot of new content this month.

Roger didn’t speak to him—which is to say, he tortured him, for a week. It was absurd that he could pull this off considering a wall separated them, at most, for the majority of the time (considering neither of them particularly enjoyed leaving the apartment). It wasn’t like Mark was actively seeking out conversation. He certainly was not going to make the first move—he had no problem hiding out in his room if it meant not having to have a heart-to-heart about whatever the hell went down.

It was blurry in his mind—both Roger walking in, and the moment before. It was the good kind of blurry, seeing stars, sparkling in your own eyes, ecstasy, heaven—all that good stuff that was the driving point behind such an obscene act. Against his will, Mark was a bit of a prude. It was another reason – to add to the every-growing list – of why he and Maureen didn’t work out.

“No, I really don’t need a lap dance on the way h- oh my _God,_ Maureen, you can’t just- hmpfh!”

“Please, for the love of Christ, put a shirt on, you’re going to get hypothermia. Yes, I know it’s the aesthetic, but we don’t have medical insurance.”

“Let’s not play that game- I’m not a spoil sport, I just don’t want to play the Let’s Give Mark a Boner Challenge in the middle of the Life Café.”

Somehow, Roger always won. That wasn’t something Mark needed to think about at that moment. Or really, any moment. Mark just needed to not think. And the best way for that to happen, for the clear fog to take over his mind- he hadn’t done that in a week. Was it strange to be afraid of jerking off? He didn’t want Roger to enter- to tease him like that again.

They were the only two in the apartment- as they usually were, when Mark peeked his head out the door. The coast was clear, and he carried his towel out to the kitchen, as he did, and stepped inside, as he did, fully clothed, as he had to. He undressed inside, not risking Roger coming out at an inopportune moment. Everyone had to shower, but it was only Mark Cohen who had to deal with the intense fear and shame around showering in the kitchen. They had a limited supply of hot water every day, and Mark was certain—convinced – he would be the first – only – person to use it that day. He turned it on, and let it run over him.

            He loved getting clean- it was almost a spiritual thing, and maybe it was the Jewish side of him and the love of water (even though it was supposed to be natural water for the baptism, but that’s not the point) – or something that made him feel a little bit classier than his shitty apartment in alphabet city was. His glasses rested on the edge of the sink, as he rinsed, starting to wash his auburn hair, with some old shampoo that Collins stole from a hotel. He faced away from the door, his eyes closed, running water thundering in his ears.

He blinked open when he heard two taps.

Against his better judgement that he didn’t have time to consider, he turned around, hands immediately flying to cover what needed – desperately – to be covered.

“Roger?” He said, his sight only getting worse. Honestly, he was shocking that he could even see colors without his glasses on. “What are you-“

“Following through on my promise.” He said, and Mark didn’t need to see him to know exactly the smirk painted across his lips. “Besides, you’re going to use up all the hot water. Might as well conserve it.”

“You’re- you’re joining me?”

“If that’s alright.”

Mark straightened his shoulders, turning back away. “Shut up and get in here.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear, Markie.”

He could just barely hear Roger undressing behind him, letting his distressed jeans fall to the floor in a heap. The very image of what was likely behind him started the blood pumping, but Mark wasn’t mad about it. He rested his head against the shower wall, hand slowly bringing him up to a semi, until he felt Roger enter the contained glass box and close the door behind.

It was a tight fit, Roger’s back pressed against one wall and Mark’s front pressed against another. “Starting without me?” Roger said, reaching around to Mark and taking him in his own hand, working tantalizingly slow, testing to see if he could get Mark begging for it.

He could.

One hand around his cock and the other firmly around his waist, nails digging near his thigh, Roger waited for the streams of whimpers to escape Mark’s lips. They did. He squeaked, squirmed in Roger’s hand, and bucked his hips in hope of getting more relief faster. Roger’s other hand held him in place.

“Oh, you wanted to speed up?”

“No shit, Roger, you’re like a- like a fucking- like a _snail_.’

“That’s a horrible metaphor.”

“You’re a whore- horrible person.”

Roger chuckled into Mark’s ear, letting his breath linger. The hot water streamed over the pair of them, only making Mark’s situation stiffer and harder.

So then Roger pulled his hand away. Mark put it back, pulling Roger closer by accident, feeling his rockstar roommate’s length against his ass and breathing heavily. “You’re not done.”

“You think you’re in charge now?” Roger challenged, starting to bite the skin near Mark’s neck lightly, pulling at it with his teeth, and letting his hand gently brush Mark, without making any real impact. “Cute.”

Mark let out a soft moan, arching the crook of his neck to give Roger better access, whether he meant to or not, grinding his hips in an effort to great some – any, God, please, -- friction. “No, just really- really, fucking hard, which, by the way, is your fault, so you might as well help me.”

“My fault? Even when I’m not touching you, you’re getting it up without hesitation. I mean, you were looking at me in the _shower_. You’re lucky I’m going to _use_ you.”

Mark groaned, a sucker for any promises or threats—within the week, he was sure that Roger would have figured out every possible kink, every way to drive Mark crazy, and that he would use them to his advantage at any given opportunity. And God knows there were enough.

“What do you want from me?” Roger snarled in his ear. “All you have to do is ask.”

“To shower in peace-“ He answered cheekily, smiling as Roger pushed him flat against the wall.   
“I’ll leave you right now if you insist,” Roger had no problem challenging him, since Mark would never accept blue balls, especially when it was so obvious that he would do anything for relief. “Just say the word, Markie.”

Mark shuddered at the awful, atrocious nickname- second place only to ‘Pookie’. “No.”  
“In that case, tell me what you want.”

“You know- you know what I want, asshole.”

“Tell me or I’ll make you beg.”

It was tempting to see how he’d do the latter, but Mark wasn’t going to wait a minute longer. He’d waited long enough. “I want you to fuck me. Use me, break me, I don’t fucking care, just go back to touching me.”

Roger hummed—almost a growl – reaching back around to Mark’s cock, which had grown back to a full, respectable size. He practically melted in Roger’s touch, slipping on the soaking floor.

Just to make sure Mark knew what he was capable of without even having to start actually fucking him- and because he didn’t bring a condom and he wasn’t an idiot – Roger was planning on bringing his naïve roommate to climax with just his hands. Give him a little more fodder for his own private sessions. It was a courtesy, really, but it was also just so _fun_ to toy with such a surprisingly defiant whore.

Fingers moving at a much faster speed than previously, Roger worked around Mark’s cock, as his roommate squirmed and whined in his grasp- every shock of pleasure a visual reaction that Roger couldn’t help but be proud of. “Are you close, Markie? Am I going to make you cum? That’ll be fun to hold over your head, won’t it? That you’re a puddle when you’re around me. I expect a thank you when you’re done.”

Mark’s eyes were glued shut, as he focused on how _insane_ his current situation managed to me. A week of radio silence, and Roger, ever the fucking _douchebag_ , pulls this shit. “Yes- yes, you’re going to make me cum, and I’ll thank you or whatever then, but for the love of everything holy in this world, don’t _stop_.”

With heat building condensation around them and a strategic bump of his hip, Roger flicked the shower knob to the cold for just a moment.

Ice rained down on Mark, who shivered from both the unexpected shift in temperature and from Roger’s aggressive attempt to please him. “Fuck you, Ro-“ He was cut off by his own moans, finishing onto the floor of the shower, turning around to face Roger, but not looking up into his eyes. It was embarrassing and vulnerable, even though it was something they both wanted – needed, to happen.

“What was that?”  
Flickering a glance into his dangerous blue eyes for half a second, Mark looked at him, holding his chin in his hand, and then kissed him, the warming water pouring over both of them.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, whore.”

“We will never discuss this again, okay? Unless it’s going to happen again.” Mark added, not opposed to making this a habit- unless he started falling in love, even though they were probably – _probably_ – already past that point. “But I don’t need- need the-“

“The whole apartment knowing you’re a little bitch who’s not below begging? Your secret’s safe with me.”

And with that, Roger exited, dried off, and never mentioned it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all requests can be comments or sent to my new tumblr url, https://virginwhocantdrivee.tumblr.com/
> 
> also, don't be like roger, and practice aftercare with your partner(s)! don't let fan fiction be your only source on healthy sex!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @bareunloveliness or for more Marker content, @incorrectmarkerquotes on Tumblr.


End file.
